


Princes over Kings

by HoopyFrood



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was <i>not</i> in his job description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princes over Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the anon meme. Takes place just before the Marston Moor HHTV sketch.

Mike's been around enough of histories best and not-so brightest to have developed a pretty effective mental barrier to protect himself from the numerous sticky situations that his job could land him in the middle of. After all, just speaking or acting wrongly in this line of work could have disastrous consequences.

He's perfected the fine art of being emotionally invested to the point where gaining the interviewees trust is a breeze, but is also distant enough so that he doesn't wind up minus his head or the new plaything of some great Roman Emperor. Usually.

He prides himself on his technique, professionalism, and sincerity. Basically, Mike Peabody is damn good at his job.

All his previous high octane experience, however, doesn't stop the slight foreboding feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach as he arrives at Marston Moor to interview Prince Rupert.

You see, he's dealt with this particular family before, and they've never failed to make him lose his cool. Which is the understatement of the century, he thinks with annoyance.

Interviewing Charles I was one of his first jobs with HHTV, and though he partly blames naïvety and youth, he can't deny that he was utterly spellbound by the King. He could hardly ask his questions without stuttering or stumbling over his words.

As for Charles II, well, If it wasn't for Charles' loyal advisor, Sotherby, Mike is sure he'd have ended up with a lapful of Royalty by the end of the interview. Which, granted, he wouldn't have actually _minded_.

So yes, Mike's understandably a bit nervous. And no, it's definitely not a good kind of nervous, because he certainly doesn't have any sort fondess for this blasted family. Not at all.

He breathes deeply, once, twice, and strides confidently up to where the Prince happens to be engaged in a rather animated conversation with three of his fellow cavaliers.

"Mike Peabody, HHTV News," he announces loudly.

The group immediately go quiet, each turning to look at him with varying degrees of annoyance. Mike starts to hear his heatbeat in his ears as he's stared down, a wave of inexplicable self-consciousness washing over him.

The Prince huffs a small laugh and steps forward, gripping Mike's outstretched hand in greeting.

"Ah, yes. A pleasure." Rupert swings around and smiles widely at his men, "Give us a moment, will you chaps?" Before turning back to Mike with obvious interest.

The soldiers roll their eyes in amusement and titter to themselves as they walk away. Mike can't decide whether he would have preferred them to have stayed, or not.

Rupert takes a step back and makes no attempt to hide the blatant once over he gives Mike. Raking his gaze slowly up and down the length of his body with such intensity, Mike can feel his cheeks start to heat. He manages to resist the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans, however.

"Why, I can't say what you're wearing does you any favours, my good man." Rupert leans in, and cocks his head up slightly to look Mike in the eyes, "But you definitely add a certain _something_ to the camp that was sorely missing."

He winks. Actually winks.

It shouldn't be charming, but it is, and Mike bites his bottom lip. Hard. Which, of course, Rupert immediately zeroes in on with a delighted grin.

"I, am Prince Rupert." He bows low, one arm extended out to the side, the other curled into his chest, "General in His Majesty's Cavalier Army."

He takes Mike's hand in his and gently presses his lips to the knuckles, "At your service."

Okay, so he's incredibly flirtatious, which Mike expected. He can deal with that.

"I've actually met your Uncle once before. Your cousin, as well," Mike ventures. Establish a bond, create a link, do your bloody job, Peabody.

"Oh?" Mike almost dismisses the slight narrowing of Rupert's eyes as a trick of the light, the change so subtle, but no, there was a definite unpleasant squint, "I hope they treated you well."

"They were both upstanding gentlemen."

"I'm sure," Rupert drawls.

Wonderful. Now what?

"I like this." Mike jumps in surprise as Rupert suddenly reaches forward into his personal space, and runs his fingers with expert grace through the short greying hair at Mike's temples, "Very distinguished."

"Er, thank you." You're a journalist, say something charming and whimsical, "I like... I like your hat?" Mike mentally kicks himself. This really isn't going as well as he had hoped.

Rupert drops his hand onto Mike's shoulder and guffaws loudly, the large white feather sticking out the top of the monstrosity on his head tickling Mike's nose. He fruitlessly tries to bat it away.

Still giggling to himself, Rupert dances his long fingers down Mike's arm and circles them securely round his wrist. With a quick squeeze, fingertips pressing encouragingly on his pulse point, and a cheeky grin, he starts to tug Mike in the direction of the nearest tent.

"Wait, I really should..." Mike digs his heels into the ground and half-heartedly gestures to the rest of his crew setting up the cameras off in the distance. He had planned on getting this particular job over and done with as soon as possible.

"You really _shouldn't_ do anything other than follow me, Mr. Peabody." Rupert smooths his thumb over the inside of Mike's wrist, rubbing soothing spirals into the skin. Mike looks down at their joined hands and gulps.

He does make a rather convincing argument.

And really, how can Mike deny a Prince? He relaxes and lets Rupert pulls him along, a carefree laugh twinkling through the air as he does so.

Once they're inside, Rupert swipes his hat off his head and flings it onto the pile of stacked wooden boxes in the corner. It's not a particularly big tent, deceptively small actually, and clearly used for mainly storage above all else.

The tight, enclosed space does nothing to calm Mike down, however. He stands ramrod straight in the middle. But yet... his body starts to tingle in excitement.

What the hell is he _doing_? What happened to his unrelenting resolve?

Rupert slides his hands up Mike's arms, stepping in closer as he does so.

Oh, right.

Rupert places a kiss on the underside of Mike's jaw, then another, and another, working his way to Mike's mouth. He licks along the seam of Mike's lips and sucks the bottom one into his mouth, giving it a playful tug with his teeth. This close, Mike can appreciate the Prince's beauty for what it is. Roguishly handsome, with the last echoes of boyhood just fading. Something his pompous dress is clearly unable to outshine.

He's, oh christ, he's _gorgeous_.

Mike relents; bringing one hand up to the back of Ruperts neck and then winding his free arm round his waist. He pulls Rupert flush against him, deepening the kiss and bending him backwards with the force of it. Rupert makes a sound of approval in the back of his throat at the sudden response.

Mike pours every ounce of bottled up frustration and ever bubbling-beneath-the-surface passion, into the kiss. He deserves this, at least, surely.

After a few moments, Rupert pulls back with a chuckle. "I knew you had it in you," he almost sings. "And boy, do you have it in you. Impressive," Rupert continues with a purr.

Mike can't stop the swell of pride he feels blossoming within, or the massive shit-eating grin that stretches across his face. An ego boost from an attractive man is always welcome, as far as he's concerned. "You're not too bad, yourself," he says.

"I should think so!" Rupert bellows with gravitas. "By the way," he quickly switches to a whisper, wrinkling his nose as he taps Mike in the middle of his chest. "This is a frankly ridiculous piece of clothing," he complains.

Rupert yanks at the kevlar vest in distaste, pushing his fingers deep into the unmalleable material, distressed about being unable to feel the contors of Mike's body underneath. "If this is what my ancestors have to look forward to, I truly feel for them."

"It's not a fashion statement," Mike laughs, as he shows Rupert how the velcro works. "It's to protect me from stray bullets, arrows, spears, what have you."

Rupert turns the vest over in his grasp, inspecting it with vague interest, before dropping it the the floor and reaching up to link his hands behind Mike's head. He molds himself to the taller man's front, eager to feel him sans protective gear.

"So your job's quite dangerous, then?" Rupert asks, pulling Mike back down once more.

"Incredibly," Mike groans, as Rupert sucks on his neck, following the curve of the shirt collar over his clavicle with his tongue. Mike slides his hands round to Rupert's backside, hitching him up to connect their hips more easily. The silky material covering the swell of Rupert's arse a surprise turn on that only adds to his growing erection.

"Do you enjoy it. The danger, that is?" Rupert equires between licks, inching a thigh in between Mike's legs.

"Th-there's a certain thrill, I admit." There's that niggling sense of foreboding, again. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, we are rather _exposed_ , after all." Rupert runs his hands up under Mike's shirt, skimming across the expanse of his stomach and roughly rubbing over his nipples with a clever chilled touch.

"A flimsy flap of material hiding us from my entire army." He starts to walk Mike backwards, gently pushing at his chest until they both reach the main supporting post in the tent. "Then there's the possibility of someone walking in at any moment, of course."

In all honesty, it hadn't even crossed his mind. A quivering ball of panic rises up into Mike's throat. He can hear the sounds of men laughing and talking as they pass by outside, so close, probably no more than a few feet away. The clink of metal as comrades spar and clean their weapons, like thunder in his ears. This is ridiculous.

Oblivious to Mike's internal conflict, Rupert pecks him on the lips and, without warning, slithers down his body until he's resting on his knees. Mike gawps in shock, his brain having shortcircuited in pure _want_ as soon as Rupert thumped lightly down onto the ground.

"Unfortunately, time is against us," Rupert pouts. "But that doesn't mean we can't play a _little_ dangerously."

Rupert reaches up and begins to unbuckle Mike's belt.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait, no. N-no." Mike flails, somehow managing to still Ruperts hands in his frantic flapping about.

"No? Really?" Rupert lifts his eyebrows and sits back on his bent legs. The very picture of superiority, despite his current position.

There are a thousand different reasons why Mike should stop this before it goes any further. A bit of necking before an interview whilst, sure, not exactly orthodox, is a lot easier to recover from than anything more strenuous. It's also far from professional.

On the other hand... He looks down at the young Prince. His large, brown eyes sparkling in mischief, and his kiss-flushed lips pulled into a fond smile.

And then there is that helplessly intoxicating possibility of getting caught, as well. He drops his arms back to his sides.

"I didn't think so." With a smirk, Rupert resumes his task of ridding Mike of his jeans. He deliberately brushes against the very visible bulge at the front with his knuckles, before pulling down the zip with agonizingly slowness. The sound is deafening, and seems to go on forever. It's torture.

Just as the last set of metal teeth finally come unclasped, Mike hears shuffling outside. There, visible through the small gap at the bottom of the tent, a pair of feet. He bites his lip in panic, eyes comically wide as he looks down at Rupert who's still the very picture of composure. Bastard.

The unknown person eventually ambles away after a few more agonising seconds, leaving them undisturbed. Not that Mike's heart, which feels like it's about to burst out of his chest, cares.

With a snicker, Rupert jerks Mike's jeans down over his hips, letting them fall to pool around his ankles.

Rupert flashes Mike a quick smile, before leaning forward and mouthing the outline of his cock through his underwear. Leaving damp marks all along the length and puffing hot air against the thin cotton as he trails his lips up the curved impression of Mike's shaft.

The featherlike touch is glorious, yet at the same time, just not enough. Mike wants to feel himself bump against the back of Rupert's throat. Wants heat. Wants suction. _Wants_.

Rupert automatically slides his hands round to Mike's backside when he starts to feel the other man's legs begin to shake, and kneeds the firm flesh. It's a small comfort that only suceeds to increase Mike's anticipation of what's to come.

Which, hopefully, will be him.

"Rupert, hurry up," Mike says with an uncharacteristic growl, thumping his head back onto the wooden post he's propped up against.

Rupert nuzzles his nose into Mike's lap and laughs, "You win." His voice scratchy and just so wonderfully wrecked.

He grips the waistband of Mike's boxers at either side and drags them down. Mike's straining cock springs out with an attractive bounce that leaves Rupert's mouth watering, and own erection pressing insistently against his the inside of his breeches.

He touches his lips to the tip of Mike's cock and pushes his tongue lightly into the slit; readying his tastebuds with a teasing taste.

"S-shit." Mike instinctly clutches Rupert's head, the shock of finally being touched jerking his entire body forward, and tangles his fingers in the soft curls of his wig.

Rupert eagerly sucks the head of Mike's cock into his mouth and bobs shallowly to get used to the girth. After a few seconds, he starts to slowly slip down the length. He purses his lips and tries to avoid catching his teeth on the sensitive skin, taking as much of Mike into his mouth as he can.

Mike's heavy and thick in his mouth, a feeling Rupert knows he could easily become addicted to. He hums as he sucks, the soft vibrations sending jolts of pleasure all throughout Mike's body, and earning him a long whine from the man above him.

The hot, wet heat is almost too much to take, and Mike can't help but buck into Rupert's mouth. Greedily seeking as much of it as he can.

Rupert pushes him back and grips Mike's cock at the base, pumping along with the slide of his mouth. His nails catch at the short hairs curling up, pulling with a pleasant pain that has Mike arching his back in pleasure. Rupert moves his tongue to the underside and follows the vein from root to tip.

"Rupert," Mike warns with a flex of his fingers on Ruperts head. He can feel his balls tightening with that familiar build of pressure.

Rupert lets Mike's cock slip from his mouth just as, with a long dry sob, he comes. Rupert's tongue darts out to swipe at the stray white drops that cling to his lips and slowly dribble down his chin. Mike would be mortified if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Rupert's pays no attention, with his breeches already halfway down his thighs, he furiously brings himself to release. Mike watches as Rupert's dark cock slips easily through his fist with the slick of pre-come that he drags down and then up again. The milkiness of his exposed skin, so tense from the strain, a stark contrast to Rupert's midnight coloured uniform.

Mike just can't look away. He wants to burn this image of the debauched, keening Prince into his memory forever. He doubts he'll be seeing much else when he climbs into bed at night and closes his eyes.

Rupert throws his head back in ecstasy, and partly in that particular brand of melodrama that suits the Prince oh so well, as he climaxes. It's oddly fitting.

Once spent, he wipes his hand on the grass and pulls his breeches back up as he staggers slightly to his feet. Mike notices with satisfaction that his are knees stained green.

"Now, as nice as that was, once we get this silly litle battle over with, how about the two of us find a nice flat, and relatively sturdy, surface that you can fuck me on. Sound good?" Rupert grins languidly, stretching his arms up above his head with a sigh.

"But first," he holds up a finger in point, "a clean pair of breeches and, more importantly, some food." He twirls round on one foot and looks over his shoulder at Mike. "I imagine you have some preperations to do before our interview, Mr. Peabody?"

"Yes, right. Work." Mike nods and clicks his tongue in thought as Rupert goes to leave. He quickly snatches up Rupert's hat from where it was flung and, throwing caution to the wind, grabs Rupert by the hand before he can disappear through the tent opening and draws him back into his arms.

Mike fits his lips over Rupert's and slowly massages the red, plump skin. Rupert grips at the back of his hair tightly and melts into Mike's embrace. Lazily sliding his tongue against Mike's with an ease that makes Mike feel almost giddy.

"Later," Rupert pants when they part, utterly unable to stop the shuddery laugh that errupts from between his lips when Mike tries to lean back in. " _Later_."

"Later," Mike agrees, fixing the garish piece of headgear back on Ruperts head and kissing him on the cheek with such sweetness, that it turns Rupert into something close to bashful.

Oh, Mike is in deep.

Mike reluctantly lets him go. Yet, almost immediately after strutting out into the light with perfected flourish, Rupert pops his head back in.

"I have to say, it's been an absolute joy working with you so far, Mike." Another wink, and he's gone.

Well, Mike sighs, sleeping with a Prince certainly constitutes as a sticky situation.

He can hardly bring himself to care.


End file.
